Smoke Through the Pipes
by BasilMacVae
Summary: Cid takes some time for himself. Whether he stays awake for it, remains to be seen. Rated for content and language.


This little piece of shenanigans was contracted when I was studiously ignoring my homework and listening to Pandora. First thing that came to mind was this, and I realized something in that shining moment of clarity: I am a pothead at heart. SO I whipped this up, and spent many moons restarting the same song over and again. Then I posted it in Y!gallery, then forgot to post it HERE until the ever-beloved Hatseptsut asked me why I wasn't posting anything. I felt like a nincompoop. SO I posted it, messed up, then posted it again. And here we are.

All characters and music belong to their respective owners. I claim no ownership of anything beyond plotlines and a twisted vision of music. This has not been beta'd, so any corrections and suggestions are welcome. Please support the artists.

"Le Reveur (Thievery Corporation Remix)" - Cirque du Soleil

Song prompts: touch, dream, and smoke.

Pairing: Vincent/Cid

Warnings: drug use, (considered legal in a few states, Florida being one; not sure what others) dubious consent, language, (courtesy of Cid and Barrett. It just sort of happened, those foul-mouthed buzzards) brief (very brief) appearance of wimins.

LOLLINEBREAK

Cid Highwind let the smoke percolate in his lungs before exhaling in a controlled push of breath. This wasn't like smoking a fag, it wasn't a daily occurrence. You had to soak up the experience itself. Smoking a hookah was dining in a fine restaurant (not that he would know), not the steak and potatoes dinner that cigarettes were to him. He leaned back into the over abundance of cushions, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. Making a stop at Wutai hadn't been such a horrible idea after all. The original intent may have been to pick up some surplus supplies (and have Yuffie drag a not entirely willing Vincent out on a poorly disguised date), but this hookah bar had been a lucky find. A woman's ululating tones wound through his ears to settle in his head. It should have been annoying; but with the sweet smoke clouding the air around him, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Without opening his eyes, he lifted the pipe to his lips and sucked in more of the weed that had come highly recommended. Before he could exhale, though, something cold and metallic grasped his hand, and he opened hazy eyes to see Vincent Valentine. Entirely too close for sober comfort, it was only a curious thing through the fog of opium. "Can I help ya, Val," he asked, his words carrying a cloud that curled interestingly about his face and red, red, so ridiculously red eyes. There was no response, only those eyes that watched him and claws that touched his hand. Cid shrugged mentally, then took another hit. It was probably a hallucination, anyhow. Completely possible with a new breed of plant, and how was he planning on getting back to the ship, anyhow? Should have thought of that earlier, too late now. Might as well have fun with it.

He failed to be shocked at all when the not Vincent pressed his lips to his own; he felt his not real tongue slick his chapped lips and gently pry his mouth open. Cid huffed out a breath, and his hallucination greedily took the flavored opium into his lungs. Still kissing, tongues lazily wrapping around each other, smoke escaping to hover around their heads before dispelling into the thready voice and rhythm still shivering in the air. "Well," Cid thought, "well. Now I know I'm tripping." The not Vincent pulled back, and Cid slurred his next thoughts aloud. "This is some good shit. Wonder what's gonna happen next; just please don't turn into Yuffie, or Barrett or sommat. That would just ruin a good buzz, righ' there." (it should be noted that Cid lost a good portion of his accent when he got high)

Luckily for Cid, Vincent seemed perfectly content to stay Vincent. The pilot nodded in blurry satisfaction, and brought the pipe up, breathing deeply. Not Vincent's eyes were intent on his expanding chest, both hands coming down to place themselves on either side of Cid's waist. Lips connected once again, smoke traded mouths and Cid felt unreal thumbs shifting into soothing motion. A distant, largely ignored part of him wondered why it was that his mind would place "Val" in front of him, and not, say, Tifa. Or even, planet forbid, Shera. (he hoped that she wasn't currently busy wreaking his house) Then again, perhaps that was exactly the reason, right there. There were no women in his life that he could (either without guilt or outright disgust) use as fapping fodder, and it wasn't like he could or would use Cloud, the mako-ridden freak. So he went for the best available person. He'd examine later the reason why Vincent was considered good for these sorts of fantasies later, when his hallucination wasn't distracting him with full nips to his bottom lip. Cid let out a shuddering breath when not Vincent's right hand slipped underneath his grease stained shirt to slowly sweep up over his side, sending pleasant shivers rippling through his torso. He had to wonder if leather felt this nice in real life?

He also wondered if he was making out with thin air. Or if he wasn't asleep, as he was wont to do when blitzed. "Mn," he mumbled into not Vincent's mouth, until he could speak properly. "Pinch me," he muttered. He didn't quite know what to think when he was obliged with a tweak to his nipple, hitching his breath and jolting his heart. If he was dreaming, it was very vivid; especially with not Vincent pulling his body into his rocking hips. "Guh," his head fell back again, and he felt warming lips latch themselves onto his pulse, sucking gently. Damn vampire.

This was far too real for even his drunken comfort.

"Who are ya," he very decidedly did not whimper. Not Vincent's lips removed themselves from his person for the barest moment, hips stilled, and whoever it was leaned forward to whisper hot breath into his ear, coaxing more shivers out of him. "Who are ya?" He asked again, stronger only in his mind, sluggish in every other way.

Chuckle, dark and red as his not real eyes. "Do not worry about it, chief. I will take care of you." Not Vincent's (please, dear Gaia, let this all be a dream and not some pervert stranger) hips resumed their pushing into his groin, and Cid's mouth was again captive to his dream.

LOLSCENECHANGE

The next morning, Cid woke up slowly with a barely-there throbbing behind his eyes. He peered around him to find that he was in his own bunk, thank the Ancients. One of the crew must have found him and dragged him back to the Highwind, bless their soul. He'd have to remember to buy some donuts at the next stop.

He hefted himself up, and rolled to his feet, wincing as he did so. He had slept wrong, his back was complaining at him. He would have to be careful, lest he throw it out during work around the airship. He went about his morning business, doing a cursory washing before heading over to the mess for his morning constitutional. (and what kinda fuckall word was "constitutional" anyway? Better to just say "breakfast")

He missed the double takes, the full on stares, and the hesitant whispers. It was a daily part of life on the ship for gossip and family news to spread among the crew, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. He was slightly confused, though, when he swaggered (carefully) into the mess hall to see Tifa and Cloud halt their murmured conversation to stare (blank as it was, from Cloud) at him. He paused for a moment, and stared right back, before shaking off the sense of unease and resuming his morning routine. Who knew what ran through the minds of planetary heroes, anyhow?

A bit later, he turned away from the stove with a fresh cup of black tea steaming in his hands (no milk, no sugar, thank you VERY much) and went to sit at a table with Barrett, Nanaki, and Cait Sith. He had barely sat his butt down, when: "What the fuck is that?" Whatever noise there had been was immediately demolished, true to form, when Barrett exploded with pointing fingers and twitching eyes. Cid leaned back a little and glared at him with indignant confusion.

"The hells are ya talkin' about?" he demanded, sipping his tea and doing a little eye-twitching himself.

"That!" Barrett sputtered, still pointing and glaring. "That right there! What are ya, sick, or something? The fuck is that, anyway?"

Cid snarled and smacked the great ham-hock of a hand out of his space. "Shut the fuck up, ya gibberin' nut job. I'm not sick, you're just retarded."

"You do have something on your neck, Captain. It looks rather painful," Nanaki interrupted.

Cait Sith jumped in with cheerful vigor, "Aye, laddie; it's all ova' the place. It looks a wee bit like some one's been given' ye a purpelin'."

Cid stared at the artificial not-so-intelligent feline, before he snorted in disgust and shoved away from the table. "Fuck this, I'm outta here," he spat, before turning about and halting in place. Vincent loomed above him, staring in disconcerting silence, as always. He reached out slowly, ignoring a minute flinch, and traced a meandering path across the front and sides of Cid's neck. Shock permeated the room when a slow, satisfied smile stretched his lips further than any one of them had thought possible.

"Oh my gawd!" Everyone's head (excepting Vincent's) snapped to the entryway, where Yuffie stood gaping at Cid. "Where'd you get a HICKY?" 


End file.
